Kiss the Rain
by IndianSpice
Summary: One-parter. RT: "The rain kisses you until your body stings with his possession. And for one solitary second, you feel as if you can go to him."


**Title: **Kiss the Rain

**Rating: **PG-13/R

**Written in response is the following fic request:**

**Things to include**:

1. Tristan as one of the Saturday morning orphans.

2. His major at Yale is something unexpected (i.e not economics, or business, or pre-law or any of the other standards).

3. Tristan as a closet Harry Potter fan.

4. Rory having a summer job that is not in any way connected to the Dragonfly.

5. Kirk in some way, shape or form.

**Things not to include: **

1. The Narc!sex. Or Dean!sex in general.

2. A Tristan that's been pining for Rory since RALB.

3. Perfect!Rory.

**A/N: **Dear Gawd. I cannot believe I actually finished this thing. If this seems rushed, not good, totally confusing, or all of the above it's all thanks to my dutiful ways of procrastination. And to whomever requested this fic: my sincere apologies for the lack of, uh, the fluffiness and basically the goodness you wanted. Also, if you have trouble reading 2nd person POV, please avoid this story. And even if you're semi-okay with it, I'm sure it'll scare you senseless. Other than that, enjoy.

-&-

The air still tastes like the first drop of rain after a long summer spell, satisfying the thirst of the dry, cracked earth. The scent is so familiar and comforting that you have to inhale again, more deeply this time. You are lying in the sun scorched grass, yellowing and scratchy against your jaw and arms. There are many thoughts buzzing through your head—thoughts of books and bubble gum. Thoughts of lazy summer afternoons full of ice cream and green apples from Babbette's yard. Thoughts of life and loss. Thoughts of "when" and "why." But the thought that continues to plague your mind begins with the latter: _why did this happen?_

It has been a while since you've just lied in your backyard. In fact, it has been twelve years since you've looked to the sky for colors and answers like the game you used to play when you were younger. And it feels like a century since you've realized the earth smells like roses even though there are no flowers.

The flowers are gone, shriveled and blown by the wind, much like the contents of your life. But you will not think about that. Not now. Not when you have the sky to look at. So you refocus your attention to the sky where everything is blue and blank and beautiful.

It's the perfect shade of blue; you know this for a fact. Not because there are no dark clouds poisoning the color or because it's so bright that you will cry. It's not any of these reasons. It's something more _right_, something you knows as well as your own name. You smile to yourself and wonder if your eyes can ever hold the summer sky; can they mirror it as flawlessly as his?

He always made a face and exclaimed that eye color was based on simple genetics and the placement of melanin. In response, you would laugh and tell him that nothing so _perfect_ in match could be as simple as genetics. You would launch into a passionate speech of a superior power, fate, and meant-to-be just because you loved to see him pout, clearly annoyed. But also, some part of you believed in it all.

This is why you do not curse the world and the people around you for your loss. Because you believe. You are determined, very determined not to be bitter. At least, not towards others but as for yourself, what can you do?

What can you do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that's what hurts the most. There is nothing in the world that can occur to make things right again. It will never be the same. You are vulnerable, weak, and worthless. No matter how much you wish and cry, nothing will change. The stars certainly won't be dissembled and packed up, and the earth will keep on spinning. Things won't stop growing and you won't stop loving.

You look at the sky again where there are no indications of rain or even a menacing cloud. But to pure instinct, which the Gilmore women would choose over sight any day, it _feels_ of rain. You can hear it in the trees—the leaves rustle and whisper lovers' vows.

No longer, you realize, can you bar those memories. You have this theory that if you remember or think of them too much, you'll wear them out and they'll fade away, leaving you with nothing. Before you have any chance to rebuild your defenses, your eyes guide you directly to the sun. It's so hot and bright that it makes you want to cry. All of a sudden, a blinding light flashes and spreads everywhere, taking you back by bits and pieces.

-&-

_It's the scent that assails you first: oranges and sweat. It is the summer of your sophomore year in college and you are walking down the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. You remember that this was an Indian summer with heat so intense that every step was a challenge in its entirety. Fanning yourself with the hem of your cotton blouse, you stop to talk with Kirk, who is standing proudly behind a stand. He is selling oranges. _

_You ask the price, but he gives them to you for free. Thanking him, you lazily litter the peels near his cart, shove a few pieces into your mouth, and start walking. The next day you will find out that Kirk has slipped onto those same peels and broken his right leg. _

_You won't go see him in the hospital._

-&-

_A month later you are working in a small bookstore located in the heart of __Hartford__, reasonably called The Heartford Bookshop. Lorelai loves making jokes about this. Even though it's smack dab in the middle of the city, there isn't much business. It's being overrun by other franchises like Barnes and Noble, but you love it there. _

_In fact, it is there that you see him._

_He's been searching for a certain book for a week now, he tells you, and he's wondering if you have it in stock. Surprisingly, you do. _

_It's about fishes or felines. You really can't think straight. It's sweltering in the storage room and you feel as if you know him. _

_But you don't ask. Instead you ring him up with a total of $17.59 and wish him a nice day._

-&-

_Three days later, just when you're about to go on your lunch break, he comes back. _

_He is wearing glasses that frame his eyes like a picture, and he wants to know if he can return his book because it doesn't have any illustrations. You stare at him with the weirdest expression for about 30 seconds before he bursts out laughing. _

_Then he tells you that the real reason he's returned is because you are Rory Gilmore and he is Tristan DuGrey. _

_This time you laugh with recognition and ask him to lunch. _

-&-

_There are two weeks of summer left when you go back to Yale. You want some time to settle in, you say to Lorelai. _

_Oh yeah, and there's the fact that after successfully avoiding Dean for all of the summer, you saw him with Lindsay in the window of __Taylor__'s ice cream shop sharing a sundae. You persuade yourself you're over him, but then again, you wouldn't be running away, now would you?_

-&-

_You find Tristan sprawled on the couches in the east wing of the third floor of the library. Plopping down next to him, you tell him that he never struck you as the type who would be a Saturday morning orphan, reading in the library instead of living it large in his, what you assume, bungalow. _

_He smirks and replies that if you behave, he won't have you to strike you at all. _

-&-

_He wants to be a marine biologist, he reveals, as you both walk down the streets of Stars Hollow, the weekend before Yale resumes. He loves the ocean and the undiscovered potential that lies buried beneath. _

_You smile and whisper to him that he's just described himself. _

_As you round the corner, the forever lingering scent of citrus finds you. You realize that you've approached Kirk's orange cart and stop dead in your tracks. He looks at you through lowered lashes like you are the meanest person to be walking. _

_Tristan is clearly amused and very glad that he decided to accept your invitation to visit Stars Hollow. _

_You feel very awkward and want to leave. But you remember that Tristan loves oranges and the watering of your mouth signifies your own interest. Checking your pockets slyly and find nothing but a barrette and a stick of gum, you, of course, do the wildest and most Un-(Rory) Gilmorian thing possible: point to the sky and when Kirk's head turns, you grab three oranges and Tristan's hand and bolt. _

_The next day you will learn from your beaming mother that in hot pursuit of Bonnie and __Clyde__, Kirk stumbled and sprained his left ankle. _

_This time, you will send him a "get well soon" card and a clipping of your bad deed from the Stars Hollow Gazette. _

-&-

_It has been three weeks into Yale when you bump into Tristan again. He is sitting in a nearby coffee shop, sipping his latté, and reading the very thick book you sold him. It is in fact about fishes. You join him at his table and halfway through his rather animated account about his trip to London last spring break, his book slips only to reveal an even thicker one: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. _

_You ask if his Pottermania started there, and he looks utterly confused. His gaze trails your finger and a priceless expression of mortification immediately follows._

_He explains that he's re-reading it before the release of the sixth book. _

_You remind him it won't come out for another year. _

_Three cups of coffee later, you find yourself thrown into a whirlwind debate about the outcome of the series. For some reason, he is adamantly vouching the Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger relationship._

_You laugh at the absurdity of the idea and deem it impossible. _

_He sighs, reaches for your hand, and places a butterfly kiss where two lines intersect in the corner of your palm. If this is happening, he says to you, then nothing is impossible. _

_After he walks out the door, you bring your lips to your palm and mirror his kiss. _

_He tastes like summer. _

-&-

_That night you lie awake in bed. You think of Dean and Jess, your only two lovers who both broke your heart. The left side of your chest kind of hurts and clutches while the right stays the same. At least your heart knows when to respond. _

_And then you think about Tristan. Tristan and Chilton. You think about how much he's changed since then; he wears glasses. Sometimes. _

_You wonder why you don't wear glasses. You should, considering how much you read. _

_Read—books—you read Harry Potter. You think about Draco and Hermione. The pieces fit and you can't bear it any longer._

_It is __3:47__ in the morning and you are calling Tristan. _

_You ask him if he wants to do something Friday night._

_He mumbles that you're crazy but agrees. _

-&-

_Friday has arrived and he takes you dinner at a spicy Indian cuisine. _

_He isn't exactly trained for eating in an Olympic standard and stares amazed at you, especially when you pile on the curry. The same curry that when he tried, he started tearing up, for which you graciously call him a wuss. _

_In response, he huffs and eats two very fine peppers before leaving the restaurant. _

_As you both walk slowly, hand in hand, the sky prepares to break with water. Not wanting to get wet, you run to wait under an awning for a lull in the rain. _

_He follows you in, head bumping against yours, and you can almost taste him. But you don't have to wait for long because he presses his lips to yours. He tastes the same, you remember, like the mid-morning sun. Fresh, tart, blistering. _

_You pull back and cannot tell the blackness of his pupils from the blue. _

_This scares you. _

_Wanting to love someone scares you. But you do it anyway._

_You touch your lips to his Adam's apple and feel it move with his caught breath. He gasps and pins you against the cold metal frame of a shop window, like a butterfly under glass._

_The kiss is hot and swollen and you're not just talking about those peppers. _

_It seems you have said the latter aloud because he laughs and thanks you._

_This time you maneuver him into the fresh falling rain to kiss him and kiss him and never stop._

-&-

_His voice is as soft as air on water. I'm dying, he says, I'm dying. Let me in. Now. Oh, God. Please, baby. Please let me in. Let me love you._

_His hands are on you, making their way across your body. Everywhere they touch, a rose blooms. _

_Red, promising, glorious._

_Like the blood he draws; you taste it on your lips. It's on his lips too, his tongue. It's one and the same. He glides his tongue between your breasts, down your stomach, past your navel and up again to your lips. They are bleeding again._

_And suddenly, everything is bathed in crimson as he enters. Flashes and flickers. His mouth, crooked and coaxing—eyes like the perfect summer day. _

_You don't realize you're choking back tears until you feel him brushing the wetness off your cheeks. _

_You touch your lips to his shoulder blade and breathe in his scent. Like rain and sex and you._

_You kiss him breathless. Kiss him so hard, you no longer know where he ends and you begin. _

_I love you, he whispers. _

_You love him more._

-&-

_It's drizzling on the night of your one year anniversary and you think this is a good sign. You're waiting for him in your favorite restaurant and he's an hour late. You tell yourself that you're worrying for no reason, but he doesn't answer his phone. Still you believe all is well until you get that horrifying call. _

_Tristan was in an accident._

_When you get there, he's lying limp on a bed. His lips are so blue, you remember. So, so blue. But not like the summer sky…the color you want to see, but cannot for his eyes are sealed. You're so afraid they'll never open again. You scream and kiss his pale eyelids that are mapped with dark veins hoping to give some of your warmth to him. _

_His ribs have been crushed from the impact of the car and have punctured his lungs, the doctor tells you. And when you look up, you see red all around his hairline and forehead, his golden hair is matted and crusting with blood. It clings to the air, the smell of death, blood, and loss to the point where it swirls in the crevices of your mouth. _

_You want to cry but the tears don't come. You feel a hand by your side, the doctor hands you a small velvet box that was found in his pocket._

_You do not open the box because you already know what it is. It is a promise, a ring, the symbol of love and eternity that can never be fulfilled. Still gripping his hand, you fall to your knees and vomit. _

-&-

_It is not raining when you kneel to kiss his coffin. The grass is dry against your knees and your lips feel like sandpaper. _

_The red rose you hold in you hand pricks your skin and the blood is free flowing. You look at your hand; it is red. It is the same color as his blood. You push the thorn in deeper. More tiny crimson beads form and pour down in small rivulets. Your heart clutches. It is the same heart you gave to him. You want to cut it out and throw it away because you don't need it anymore. _

_You see a bird in the sky and stare directly into the molten sun, which seems to be the bird's destination. You want to be blinded. You don't need your sight if the sole reason you saw has been taken away from you. Dark splotches have begun to form and you're glad…until there's a rusty streak, like the blood on his forehead. You close your eyes and want to hide, but the image becomes even more brilliant. Your eyes pop open and you look away, to the sky, but the bird is gone._

_You want feathery wings of ivory. You want to fly. But are still on your knees. You want it to rain. But the sky is very blue and you cannot taste summer because the love of your life is dead._

-&-

So now nine months later, you are here—lying in your childhood's backyard, exhausted and still searching the crowds for his face. You know it is impossibility, but you cannot help yourself. Your search for him is a never-ending quest that is doomed to fail.__

You haven't noticed but it has begun to rain, and you hear your mother come onto the back porch to say something about a torrential downpour and a likelihood of flooding. She calls out your name and orders you to come in.

But you can't. You stay perfectly still because it's raining. And when it rains, you can see Tristan. You can hear the depth of his voice, smell his hands, and taste his lips. His lips are so soft that you find yourself kissing the rain. As you catch the drops onto your lips, a smile graces your face. He smiles back, and now he's talking to you.

The dry grass crunches and sloshes as your mother approaches near, and grabs onto your hand. She's talking too. Though you do not know who you're speaking to anymore, you feel your mouth moving in response. Your mother's concerned face bleeds into liquid, hazy and mixing with the rain, and now there is only Tristan…beautiful, dreadful, haunting Tristan.

His eyes are piercing, forever glittering brighter as the pace of rain increases. They are so full of emotion that you remember when he first claimed your lips in the rain. God, you want him to be here so much.

The rain kisses you until your body stings with his possession. By now you are sobbing.

Your mother calls for help; she can't carry you by herself and you are not willing to move. Lightning streaks across the sky and she shrieks and curses. You finally feel another hand grip your waist, and uproot you from your position.

Watch her belly, Sookie, you hear Lorelai caution.

You feel yourself being hoisted even higher and you can fly. And for one solitary second, you feel as if you can go to him. Touch the sky, be with him again.

But then your feet touch the ground. And you just wish, you wish with all that's left of your heart that he could be here.

As you're carried into the house, he fades away and you're spinning in circles that lead into the darkness.

And when you fade away, it is with Tristan's name on your lips and his vows in you ears, surrounded by blue and the scent of rainwater and wishes.

-&-

You don't know yet but at precisely 5:54 in the morning, your wish will be granted in the form of a new life that will be cradled in your hands.

And when you'll look down, you'll be the mother of another sweet little boy with sky blue eyes.

-&-

Finis


End file.
